God, please let this stay
by Hisa-Ai
Summary: Nothing mattered when they were alone in Arthur's bed together. Camelot herself felt safe, but Arthur's bed was as close to Heaven as Merlin believed in most days; nothing could touch them there.


**This was inspired by the song** _Colors_ **by Halsey, specifically the line that's all like:**

 _I know I've only felt religion when I've lied with you._

 **Aand the title is a line from the song** _Walk On Water Or Drown_ **by Mayday Parade.**

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin or the song that inspired this fic orrr the one that inspired the title.

* * *

 _God, please let this stay_

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*.*.*.*.*

Merlin wasn't sure where he stood with his religion most of the time; he didn't know if the gods he'd been raised on truly existed or if there were fates controlling everything and weaving destinies together like silk in their spare time or if _nothing_ existed and everything was coincident and that damned Dragon was simply pulling his leg.

Merlin simply didn't know any more, not now that life was so messy and complicated and everything that he had known once upon a time was no longer true. No, _now_ he didn't know where he stood with any of the gods or if there even _were_ gods at all.

He knew he prayed to whoever might exist when Arthur was in danger; when his life hung in the balance and there were no other answers, prayer was oft the one he sought out when magic had done all that it could do, but it was only a last ditch effort, not something he indulged in on a daily or regular basis. Who had the time for something like that, after all?

(And whether he really believed in those last-ditch prayers or simply believed that believing in **believing** in them was enough was a question he couldn't even answer for himself most days.)

It was strange to Merlin, then, that Arthur, busy as he was, was the one to utter such daily and regular prayers. Surely he had more important things to attend to? Meetings and treaties and training that coveted attention more insistently than silly words and prayers to a god that might not have even existed should have warranted?

But Merlin, as mouthy, as defiant as he was, so willing to question everything and everyone he didn't believe with, could never seem to find his voice enough to question that, to wonder aloud over Arthur's beliefs. Who was he to do such a thing, after all? Bring Arthur's beliefs into question and squelch perhaps the only thing that gave him courage and strength some days? Arthur already had enough going against him, already had so much going wrong in his life, if Merlin knew anything at all, he knew that it wasn't his place, for once, to bring that particular area of Arthur's life into question.

Still, he wondered over it to _himself_ all the same, in silence and solitude and with a curiosity about him that he didn't dare let see the light of day.

It didn't really matter, after all, not really and not truly: Arthur's religious beliefs and Merlin's lack thereof. Because Arthur was still Arthur and Merlin was still Merlin, and that he kept his mind still or full of thoughts of chores or spells when Arthur bowed his head to pray for a good hunt or feast or safety for his men wasn't something for Arthur to know concern over.

Nothing mattered when they didn't talk about it, after all.

(And if there had been _any_ guilt in Merlin after Uther had passed, and Arthur had reached for Merlin's hand in a quiet plea of, "Pray with me, Merlin," who was to say whether it was because he felt and thought _nothing_ when he bowed his head with Arthur or because _he_ was so much so responsible for Uther's passing in the first place?

He didn't concern himself over trying to figure it out, at any rate.)

What he _did_ concern himself with, however, was Arthur.

Arthur who was _so_ … righteous, and kind, and fair, and noble, and fragile, and reckless, and pigheaded, and fuck— _fuck_ , Merlin was afraid for him sometimes. _All_ the time, actually. Everyone wanted him dead, everyone wanted a piece of Camelot and a piece of Arthur; everyone in the _world_ wanted their pound of flesh, and most of them wanted it from Arthur— _his_ Arthur. And most of the time that was… well, it wasn't _fine_ , exactly, it just… _was_.

It was tolerable.

They could _deal with it_ , and Merlin could keep him safe; but some days he wondered if that was enough—if he would _always_ be enough to keep Arthur safe. He was the most powerful sorcerer in the world, Destiny and Kilgharrah would have him believe, so how was it that he felt so helpless and powerless when it came to _Arthur_ some days?

It was never quite something he would ever come to terms with, he didn't think; it was always there, a pressing, worrying anxiety in the back of his head whenever he was outside of Camelot's walls with Arthur. Anything could happen anywhere, but in Camelot… there was more safety. Camelot was Camelot, she was home and familiar territory. It was easier to feel less worry and anxiety when they were in Camelot.

Specifically, when they were in Arthur's chambers alone.

 _More_ specifically, when they were in Arthur's bed.

Nothing mattered and nothing _was_ when they were alone in Arthur's bed together. Camelot herself felt safe, but Arthur's bed was as close to Heaven as Merlin believed in most days; nothing could touch them there.

And it was _his_ job to protect Arthur, to keep him safe and sound, but even _he_ couldn't resist the urge to let Arthur do the same for him every now and then, even if it was only in the small way of Arthur wrapping an arm around him when he turned into the blond's chest when they were tangled in his sheets together. Merlin was only a man, after all, it was _fine_ that he gave in like he did in that small way of his.

It was _in_ those small moments that he found himself doubting his own doubt. How could there _not_ be a god of any sort when he still had Arthur safe and alive like he did? Surely, if there was no god at all, they wouldn't be so lucky, they wouldn't have each other as they did? Because there was an Arthur, because there was Merlin, because there was a _them_ when there shouldn't have been for _countless_ reasons…

Surely _that_ was the proof that Merlin needed that there was some god or another?

And it was. It _really_ fucking was. When they were here like this and Arthur was sleeping, his chest rising and falling under Merlin's head—it was so _easy_ to believe there was some higher being responsible for them, looking out for them, helping Merlin to keep Arthur here with him.

When they roused and dressed and went about with their day, Merlin would shake such silly notions from himself and let his doubts linger again instead when Arthur went about his day peppered with prayers that Merlin wouldn't believe. But for now… for _now_ Merlin's hand wound tightly with Arthur's as he tucked himself against Arthur's side, breathed him in deeply. They were okay for now, they were safe, and okay, and everything was alright and…

They had each other.

And for that, Merlin couldn't help but send out a silent prayer that he felt in his bones, asking whatever God there was—whatever God Arthur himself believed in—for things to stay like this; for Arthur to stay safe and alive, and for Merlin to always have him, to always be able to _keep him_ safe and happy like this.

As long as Merlin had Arthur and these moments, he could believe in _anything_ , really.

*.*.*.*.*


End file.
